


Tempest

by Sylvanius



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2019-11-25 23:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvanius/pseuds/Sylvanius
Summary: Pressure rises and a storm draws near. AU where Daine and Numair never began a romantic relationship, and things left unsaid and limits left untested begin to build. A series of defining moments set post-ROTG.





	1. Calm Before the Storm

He woke from a haze early in the morning, dawn beginning to slip through the forest canopy and casting a cool grey light across the small clearing. He felt sluggish and foggy, pain sharp on his right and pressure on his left. Checking his right side he found blood-stained bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. Breathing hurt and he spent several moments calming himself until he breathed slow enough that it was manageable. 

Daine was curled up next to him, tucked into his bedroll with one hand clutching his bare chest as if she had fallen asleep monitoring his breathing. Their camp was in shambles, items pulled from their packs hastily and not returned to their proper place. Memories of the day before began to fall into place. His arm around her tensed, remembering a blow he had seen her suffer before everything went black. 

She moaned, stirring at the increased pressure. He sighed in relief--pain was a good sign. Pain meant she was alive. She moved her head, curls tickling his arm as she looked at him. 

“You’re alive.” Her voice was hoarse, and too thick with exhaustion to state it as anything but a fact. 

“I am,” he murmured. The words were heavy in his throat and took a great deal of effort to produce. He brought his free hand to stroke her face, pushing through the searing pain in his side. He drew his hand down her cheek, along her neck, and through her curls. Hers ran over his chest. They checked one another for signs of additional injury, and to affirm that they were not in a dream that would lead to a waking nightmare. 

Content that they were okay, for the moment, he pulled her closer against him and buried his face in her thick curls. She sighed, falling into the embrace. Before long, they fell back into another long sleep.


	2. Wind Rising

Numair pulled on the reigns and Spots slowed, obediently. He dismounted and felt that the word ‘ooze’ what more appropriate for the motion. The air hung heavy with moisture around him; the heatwave that had plagued them for the last two days showed no signs of letting up. Numair fed Spots an apple from his pocket, thanking the poor beast for carrying him in such unfavorable conditions.

He didn’t see Daine at camp but took the time to tend to his mount before looking for his friend--not wanting to face her wrath if she didn’t find Spots condition up to her standards. He was contented to find his four-legged friends breathing returning to normal by the time he was done brushing him down, though less amused to see how much hair had become stuck to his sweat-soaked shirt. He grumbled and pulled it off, throwing it on top of his pack. He didn’t bother with another, knowing it would become just as soaked in a matter of minutes.

For one of the first times since the young dragonet had tumbled into his life he was glad Kit had stayed with T’Kaa. Though Daine teased him about being picky, he secretly thought the young dragon had the highest standards of the three of them and that she would have been miserable in such heat. He moved across the clearing, giving Cloud a wide berth considering how much vulnerable skin he had exposed to her, and moved over the  forest rise.

As he moved through the foliage the sounds of cicadas began to give way to the soft trickling of the nearby stream where is emptied into the pond.

“Daine?” He called, relieved to be moving down the slope as opposed to up.

“Over here.” Her voice was faint, but he was able to follow the sound around a rocky outcropping that concealed a deep part of the pond.

“No word from--” He stopped, blushing furiously. Daine leaned over a boulder, head resting against her forearms as she fed seeds to a family of chipmunks. She was bare, tanned skin of her sides and back visible to him in the glaring sunlight down to where her hips met the surface of the water which, thankfully, concealed the rest of her form. “Sorry,” he faltered, averting his gaze.  

“ _Still_ no word?” She sighed, shoulders tensing and glancing at him. They had been camped in one spot for a week not with no word from their contact.

“Afraid not.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We can talk about it at camp. I didn’t realize you were indisposed,” he glanced at her, “you _could_ have warned me.” He felt a lecture about decency forming on the tip of his tongue, but she waved him off.

“You’ve seen me naked a hundred times. Besides, it’s too hot for clothes.” She stretched her arms out across the rock and rested her cheek against it. Out of seeds, the chipmunks scattered back to the cover of the forest, forming a tiny stampede over Numair’s boots as they went.

“I don’t think the frequency really affects the respectability of the situation,” he chided but was once again cut off by her sigh.

“I don’t _want_ to be respectable, I want to not die of the heat. Besides, you’re one to talk,” she lifted her head and raised an eyebrow in his direction, gaze travelling down his chest before rising to his face once more.

He blushed, having forgotten his own state of undress. “That’s different, I don’t have--” he waved his hand at her, “ _stuff_.”

“Breasts?” She asked, barely restraining her mirth, “or a--”

“Breasts, yes,” he cut her off quickly, face burning. “Or both.” he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will see you at camp, Daine.”

“Relax, there’s not another two-legger for miles. Just get in.”

“What?” He was taken aback by how casual the request was.

“Get in. You’re only going to get tired and cranky if you can’t cool off, and it’s not like there’s anything else we need to do today.” She shrugged and he averted his eyes as the motion exposed the tops of her breasts for a brief moment.

He looked out over the pond--suddenly acutely aware of how good it would feel to get any respite from the hot, sticky summer air. He swallowed, trying to think of all the reasons he knew he should have to not join her. There were many. He was sure of it. “With you?” He asked, finally.

“It’s an entire pond, Numair. You don’t have to sit on my lap.” He could practically feel her roll her eyes at him, and sighed.

“This is really not--”

“ _Appropriate_ ,” she mimicked him, deadpanning. She dropped the mocking tone and smiled at him, “It’s not, but it _is_ practical. I won’t tell if you don’t,” she winked at him and he dropped his head into his hands, exasperated and hot.

“ _Daine_ ,” he groaned. A faint wind disturbed the air--not enough to bring any real relief, but enough to tease at the comfort that was available to him.

“Numair,” she raised her eyebrows, “relax.” She lowered herself into the water, disappearing from view as she submerged before resurfacing several feet away. She _did_ make it look refreshing.

He looked around them, part of him expecting the court gossips to spring from behind a tree, and contemplated his options. Tapping his foot he glanced at her, trying to remember all of the boundaries he had spent years cultivating, and all of the lines that were important left uncrossed.

“Fine,” he unhooked his belt, “but for Mithros’ sake _turn around_ while I get in.”


	3. Raindrops

“Just a little farther,” Daine grunted. She lurched through the doorway, stumbling under the added weight of the man draped over her shoulders. Numair mumbled something, stumbling into the study.

“What?” She sighed, eyeing the distance to his bedchamber door with a scowl. 

“I can get to my rooms by myself.” He straightened with a defiant expression, wobbling precariously. Daine raised her eyebrow, tempted to step away and seeing if he tipped over. 

“We’re in your rooms.” 

Numair looked around them slowly, gaze unfocused. Finally he gave a small nod, satisfied with the results, and moved to sit on a nearby footstool.

“Oh no you don’t,” she lurched and pulled him upright where he slumped against her once more. “Let’s get you into bed, Master Mage.” 

He stopped, abruptly, nearly toppling them both over. “That’s in--” he faltered, brow furrowed. “Ina--Inner--”

“Inappropriate?” she offered, both exasperated and amused that he could remember to lecture her even when he was so far gone. “What in Mithros’ name got into the two of you?” She urged him forward again and he sighed.

“Bad influence,” he mumbled.

“Harailt, or you?”

“Hairailt and I, magely,” he corrected, nodding his head seriously. 

She eyed him, smirking despite herself. “So you’re both a bad influence?” 

He seemed to take pause at that, nodding thoughtfully. “Both, yes. Maybe.”

Reaching the next door, Daine clutched the knob and swore vividly when she found it locked.

“That was not very ladylike.” He shook his head as Daine propped him against the doorframe, grimacing at his precarious position. 

“I’m not much of a lady, Numair,” she sighed again, running a hand along the shelves of the nearby bookshelf where she knew he usually kept the key.

“I know,” he sniggered and she scowled at him. She found the key wedged between two heavy tomes and moved back to the door. 

“I would be careful about teasing me,” she smirked, feeling the lock click, “who knows what stories I will have come morning.” She pointed at him with the key, adding emphasis to her statement. Numair opened his mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it, or forget where he was--she wasn’t sure. Instead he watched her as she deposited the key back to it’s hidey hole and returned back to him. Daine held her hands out to help hold him steady and he grinned widely, extending his own arms and enveloping her in a hug that was half embrace, and half tackle. 

Daine grunted, barely bracing herself in time for the impact. “Numair,” she groaned with the effort to keep them both standing, “I need you to help me here.” 

“I like hugging you,” he nuzzled her hair, long limbs slowly collapsing closer and closer to the floor.

“Yes, yes; we can hug more later if you’d like but first we need to get you into bed.” She heaved forward against him to no avail. 

“That’s in--” He stood up suddenly, eyes wide. “Harailt,” he slurred the name so that it was barely decipherable. “You should help Har--” Daine waved him off, speaking over him.

“Lindhall has him. He said he’s had enough experience herding you,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I’m realizing now he meant it as a warning.” She maneuvered him into a manageable position once more and prodded him until he tottered through the doorway.

Numair mumbled an apology and Daine shushed him, patting his back. They made surprisingly good time to the bed where Daine depositing the mage with a sigh of relief. He leaned back on his hands, staring at the ceiling.

“Feet, please.” Daine kneeled in front of the mage, holding out her hands. “Numair?”

He looked down at her, struggling to focus. “I don’t have any extra,” he replied, looking very concerned. 

“No,” she laughed, “these ones.” She grasped his ankle, pulling at his leg until he extended it and she could make short work of his boot and stocking before moving to the other side. 

He watched as she worked, sighing. “You’re my favorite,” he trailed off, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Your favorite what?” She looked at him, pleased despite herself. 

“Hmm?”

“You’re favorite what?”

“Oh, you know,” he gestured vaguely, “everything.” 

She placed his boots to the side and stood, brushing the wrinkles from her breeches. “Well, I am quite fond of you as well.” She smirked at the silly grin that spread across his face in response. 

“Really?”

She snorted, “yes. It’s not exactly a secret. Arms up please.” Daine tapped his shoulder and motioned for him to raise his arms. Tugging his shirt and tunic over his head was somewhat more difficult than the boots since he seemed to lose balance with every tug. She noticed, not without annoyance, that as soon as the garments were removed he seemed to stabilize once more. She reached for his belt and felt his entire body tense when she touched the buckle. 

“I,” he stuttered, a blush staining his swarthy features. He tried to block her hands, missing by a wide margin. “I can,” he tried again but Daine swatted him away.

“Shush, there, it’s done.” She pulled at the belt, sliding it off of him and waving it at him before throwing it onto the growing heap on the floor. “All done. Just need to tuck you in,” she teased, sitting next to him. “Will you be alright by yourself?” She placed a finger under his chin, turning his face to hers. He nodded, eyelids drooping. 

“Are you leaving?” He yawned, leaning into her hand. 

“Soon, yes.” 

“That’s too bad.” He leaned forward so that his forehead pressed against hers, eyes closed and smelling of whiskey. 

“Is it?” She chuckled, patting his hand. 

“I wish you could stay.” His voice was quiet, and followed immediately by his lips pressing against hers. The kiss was firm, and clumsy, and brief and made her stomach flip. He pulled away and sighed, “but you can’t.” He leaned away, laying across the bed diagonally. “It would be in--inna--”

“Inappropriate,” she murmured, breathless. “It would be inappropriate.” She turned to him when he did not reply and found him still, breathing steady and deep. She brushed a stray hair from his face and carefully released his hair tie, knowing how he hated waking with his hair matted from being up. Sighing, she made short work of putting blankets over the man before blowing out the candles and leaving for her own rooms.


	4. Squall Striking

Daine leaned against the railing, watching the squall approaching in the distance. She tapped her fingers against the banister, her restlessness mirroring the ominous shadows dancing across the waves. Her hair was heavy and damp with salt water, and her shirt clung to her as rain droplets joined the ocean spray. 

It had been a year since they’d last been at the tower, a year since they’d been alone there together, and nearly that long since the smell of whiskey had reminded her of anything but his lips on hers. It had been fleeting and clumsy, and the feeling was seared into her memory like a ghost that would not leave her be. 

Like so many other things it had never been acknowledged. Time passed and unspeakable moments mounted between them--a tenuous understanding forming that threatened to both cleave them apart and pull them into one another. Individual moments--brief and as ever-shifting as the shadows before her--that were easy to pass by one-by-one seemed to lay in wait for the dark, quiet moments where there were nothing but thoughts to fill the time. 

The ride there had been much the same. An entire company of riders under the hot, late-summer sun was more than enough to distract from the lingering touches and nagging interactions. There was always an explanation, a trick of the light, or a possible misunderstanding to explain away each passing interaction. 

And then in a dark, quiet corner of an inn that unspeakable understanding found them both. A rainy night, an inn full of riders, and a warm hearth had been a welcome change of plans for all though not entirely unheard of. Sarge had yelled at the recruits to get to bed as the hour crept on and the officers followed shortly, the fatigue of a long journey not erased by a few hours of warmth and song. 

Daine and Numair followed and he walked her to her room--something he’d done a hundred times before in a hundred different inns. This time, however, the sounds of the tavern below were erased by that of raindrops on the old tin roof and the unlit candles did nothing to stop them from sinking into the shadows at the end of the hall. And then, instead of his normal goodnight he paused and the world stopped with him. 

They stood there, the tiny bit of light reaching from down the hall allowing her to see the question in his eyes--the one he would never ask and the one she would say yes to but not out loud. The shadows between them receded, pushed away as they moved closer. She had looked up at him, stubborn chin tilted in a challenge she wanted to lose. He swallowed, the sound nearly audible, and dropped his gaze as he patted her shoulder and moved away from her and that dark, quiet moment. 

“Numair,” she had sidled up to him as he saddled Spots the next morning, trying to catch him before the day carried them both away.

“Daine, please.” He struggled to meet her eye but shook his head in an almost imperceptible motion. She had just nodded as he mounted Spots and retreated into their familiar pattern. 

And now, in the seclusion of their home, there was nowhere to turn when nothing but scant distance and a few unlocked doors separated them. Daine had brought Numair tea that morning, as he had taken to eating his meals in the study, to find him leaning over his desk with his face in his hands. She placed a hand on his shoulder and a gesture that once would have brought him comfort seemed to burn him as he jerked away, standing to place the desk between them and toppling the tea from her hands. She recoiled, shocked at his reaction as he stood across the desk with his back turned to her. Tea spread across the desk, soaking his notes and bleeding the ink into illegible shapes. 

He swore softly, having turned back to see the damage but not meeting her eyes.

“I’ll get--” 

“I’ve got it,” he headed her off and she bit her tongue, shaking her head and leaving without another word. 

The squall pressed on towards the shore, seeming to gain speed as it moved. Movement in the corner of her eye tore her attention from the approaching storm. Numair settled against the banister, mirroring her stance but several feet away. She turned back to the water when he did not speak, as lost as him as to how to fill the space between them. 

The wind rose, bringing more moisture to chill her to her bones--a harbinger of the downpour to come. 

“Hag’s bones.” It came from him suddenly, a defeated sigh escaping him as he strode across the gap. She turned just in time to be taken into his arms as he covered her mouth with his own. He was rough, and wanting and she returned in kind. They broke apart just long enough for her to take a gasping breath before she closed the distance once more. Hands traveled anywhere they could reach, desperate to explore and grasp each other closer. Rain was coming down in earnest now and he pushed her sodden curls back from her face and neck. She moaned, softly, when his hand gripped the back of her head and he deepened the kiss.

She tugged at his shirt, wanting to be closer than their garments would allow--not caring of their location or the rising storm surrounding them. He broke away again, drawing gasping breaths. She tugged on his shirt, pulling him back to her but he did not follow. She tugged again, confused at his resistance and by the fact that he would not meet her eye.

His hands came back to her shoulders, and he leaned in. She tilted her chin, but he rested his forehead against hers and did not fully close the distance. 

“I’m sorry,” he kissed her forehead, “I can’t.” As suddenly as he had appeared he was gone, disappearing into the tower without so much as a glance back. Daine shivered, the cold finally creeping into her bones. A long moment passed as she collected herself, rain falling hard and pelting her already soaked body. She turned back to the water, only to find that the storm had shored.


	5. Maelstrom

Months passed, months full of pained silences and frustration. Months of loneliness as he avoided her. Months of excuses and awkward moments and small moments that once would have been forgotten but were now tinged with sorrow. Months of working together--but just that, working. They pushed through, performed their duties, got along. Months of longing.

 Months of every interaction, slight, and letdown building like there was a string between them held too taught and threatening to snap.

 Now, tonight, all she felt was rage.

 A routine meeting, a recommendation that they travel to Dunlath--a year ago this would have been welcome. Now, Numair’s suggestion was that she could travel with the next rider’s group headed that way so that he could focus on his work in the city. Now, he didn’t meet her eye when he said it. Now, instead of lingering after the meeting and suggesting they get dinner he left before she had the chance to so much as capture his gaze.

 She followed him.

 Her anger rose as she stalked through the halls, all but muttering to herself. This had been his choice. He walked away and she had let him, thinking that if they were only ever to be friends she could accept that. She had let him walk off that balcony, never thinking he would try to walk out of her life.

 She pushed open his study door, not pausing to knock, and he stood, knocking over a book in his haste.

 “You--”

 “Daine, what are you doing?” He spoke over her, and over the foul name she called him though from his expression he had heard it clearly enough.

 “What does it look like?” she was incredulous. He sighed and walked around his desk, leaning back against it and folding his arms across his chest.

 “If this is about Dunlath--” He held his hand up when she scoffed, and she bit her tongue. “If this is about Dunlath you had to have known that someday I wouldn’t always be able to accompany you. I do have other responsibilities.”

 “I’m a _responsibility_?” The word dripped from her mouth like poison. He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant, but I’m not your teacher anymore, Daine.” He met her eyes for the first time in what felt like months.

“So we’re nothing to each other.” She looked back with a defiant shrug. He flinched almost as if she had struck him, the hurt in his eyes unmistakable as they fell from hers once more.

 “Of course not. We’re--” he faltered, hands moving to fidget on the edge of his desk.

 “What are we?” She stepped closer. He swallowed, not looking up. “What are we, Numair?” She stepped closer again.

 “We’re friends,” he stuttered, the words escaping like a choke as he gestured angrily.

 “Really?” she motioned between them. “ _This_ is friends?”

 “What else would it be?” His voice was rising to meet hers now. He met her gaze and froze, the implication of his own words sinking in. The implication of whether they were more, or less, or something altogether different weighing heavy in the room. He swallowed, steadying himself. “We’re friends, Daine. I will always be your friend.”

“Bullshit.” They were both taken aback, and she saw him clench his jaw.

 “Excuse me?” He sounded calm, but she knew him enough to know how angry he was.

 “Unless avoiding me unless it’s absolutely necessary to grace me with your presence is being my friend you haven’t my friend in months.”

 He flexed his jaw, eyes piercing. “I need you to leave.” He said, crossing his arms again. She knew that stance. She may normally be the stubborn one but he could match her blow for blow when it came down to it. And it would.

 “No.”

 “I’m not asking.”

 “Neither am I.” She stepped closer again, so there was less than an arms length between them.

 “Daine.” It was a warning. “I can’t do this.”

 “Do what?” She shook her head, trying to get a read on him.

 “This,” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair and stepped around her. “Why are you making this so hard? I--”

 “ _I’m_ making it hard?” She laughed and knew it was a cruel sound. “You’re the one who shut me out.”

“I just can’t do this right now,” he stalked towards the door.

 “Do _what_? Talk to me? Look at me? Be within fifty feet of me?” Her eyes burned but she refused to cry.

 He turned on his heel to face her. “Again, why are you making this so hard?” I came as a plea.

 “Are you kidding me?” She was yelling in earnest now. “I’ve done nothing but let you do what you want, when you want. I'm just trying to keep up.”

 “Don’t play the martyr, Daine. It’s not becoming.”  

 “It’s a good thing I don’t need to worry about what you do and don’t think is attractive on me.” It was a low blow and he swore so vividly she was almost impressed.

 “Really, Daine?”

 She sputtered, so angry that coherent thought was becoming more difficult with each passing moment. She took a breath, trying to collect herself. “Look, I don’t know what happened last--” she drew a breath, unable to look at him and think of what had happened between them at the same time. “I don’t know if you were lonely, or confused, or just trying to entertain what you thought I wanted,” she sighed, biting back tears. “I don’t know what exactly happened, but that’s fine. That’s why I let it be, but I thought after some time--”she shook her head. “You never came back.”

 “I’m right here, Daine.” He sounded bitter, and she looked at him only to feel her anger rise once more.

 “No you’re not.” When he didn’t respond she pushed on. “After you ki--”

 “I don’t want to talk about that.”

 “You don’t want to talk about anything,” she spat. There was a pause and he shrugged.

 “You’re probably right about that.”

 She flinched, the words stinging. “So that’s it?” She shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her.

 “What do you mean? What’s it?”

 “We don’t talk anymore? We don’t see each other unless it’s to work together? We’re just done?”

 He seemed taken aback. “What? That’s not--”

 “Then what? That’s all you’ve wanted to do for months, and you won’t talk to me now.”

 “That’s not what I meant. I just need,” he faltered, flailing for words that would not come. She almost had pity for him, seeing what could only be desperation in his eyes--almost.

 “What? What do you need? You’ve had months, Numair, so it can’t be time. I’m right here and willing so it can’t be to clear the air.” Her voice was rising again.

 He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it. “Gods damn it, Daine, I don’t _know_. Why do you always have to push everything?”

 “Because if I didn’t where the hell would you ever go?” She knew the words weren’t true, but they were crafted to burn and they did their job.

 “I didn’t invite you here. _You_ stormed in. _You_ refused to leave and now _you_ are unhappy with what I have to offer. This is not on me.” He stalked closer, nostrils flaring. She stood straighter to meet him.

 “Don’t play the Martyr, Numair. It’s not becoming.” She said quietly, taking pleasure when he flinched. It was brief, however, and he didn’t back down.

 “Get out.”

 She stood her ground. He made a sound low in his throat and stalked away, towards the door.

 “You will leave by choice, or I will make you leave.”

 “Why is it so hard for you to just talk to me?” She asked, still firmly planted where she stood. He stopped, leaned forward to rest against the door.

 “Talking to you isn’t what’s hard, Daine.” He said it quietly enough that she had to strain to hear him.

 “Then tell me what is.”

 “Daine.” He sounded tired, defeated.

 “Tell me.” If at any point it had been a request, now it sounded like a threat. He didn’t move, back still to her and breathing heavy. She pushed herself away from the desk with a _thud_ , swearing. “What the hell is so hard for you? What--”

 “Loving you!” He wheeled back to her. His eyes were overbright and his jaw clenched so tightly that she could see the veins in his neck. “What do you _think_ , Daine? Don’t be naive.”

 She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She shook her head, struggling to hold on to a thought much less form words. “You were the one who walked away--” her voice was thick, anger and sorrow overwhelming her.

 “I’m _fourteen years_ older than you, Daine. Do you know what people will say?”

 She looked at him, really taking him in. He was thinner than usual, and there were bags under his eyes--that always happened when he wasn’t sleeping enough. His fists were clenched so that his knuckles were white with the pressure, his entire body trembling.  This was not a man who had been enjoying life. The thought softened her--until another thought intruded. “I do.” She nodded, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. “The different is that I care more about you than I do about what they say.”

 If her previous remarks had stung him, that one hurt. “You know I care more about you than I do myself.”

 “Do you?” She shrugged, gesturing between them and at whatever it was they had become. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

 “Don’t be cruel.” He shook his head. “If I had--”

 “I don’t care.” She cut him off. He looked at her before moving around her once more to settle on the edge of the desk again.

 “I was trying to say, If I--”

 “I _don’t_ care.” She grit her teeth, seeing red.

 “You wanted to talk, so now I’m talking.” He yelled, losing his temper. “You don’t understand the implications of us being together. If--”

 “I don’t care, Numair. There is nothing you can say to explain what you’ve done that doesn’t come down to you being a dolt.”

 “Wanting to protect you is doltish, is it? Wanting you to have more out of life than I can offer?”

 “Yes!” They were yelling in earnest now, neither one willing to give an inch. “You don’t get to make these decisions on your own!”

 “Yes, I do! It’s not up for debate!”

“Of course it is! Look at what’s happened!”

“Stop being childish--”

“ _Childish_ ? _I’m_ being childish?” She closed the distance between them, seething. “You can’t even talk about what you’re feeling.”

 “What am I doing now, then?” He gripped the edge of the desk, breathing hard.

 “Making excuses.”

 “Reasons aren’t excuses.”

 “Yours are. Not once have you talked about what you _want_ , or what I want for that matter.”

 “Life isn’t always about what you want. You should know that as well as anything.”

 “Do you even care, then? Or are you just going to spend your life holed up with your books so you don’t have to think about it?”

 “You think I don’t _think_ about it? Mithros.” He looked up towards the heavens at his exclamation, exasperated.

 “I wouldn’t really know what you think about,” she hissed. “Do you even care?”

 “Do I even care _what_?”

 “What I want.”

 “Of course, but--”

 “Then ask.”

 “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

 “Ask me what I want, Numair.”

 “Daine--”

“ _Ask me what I want_.”

“What do you want?” He yelled, but his follow up was drowned out because somewhere along the line they had drew closer and now her lips were on his. If their kiss on the balcony all those months ago was wanting, this was possession.

He broke away and she followed, taking the lead and pressing closer so that one leg slid between his and she straddled his thigh. His hand gripped the back of her head, clutching her curls as he kissed her back with bruising pressure. She drew back long enough to draw a gasping breath before returning to him, running her hands over his chest and her tongue against his. He moaned when she pressed her thigh against his groin and rolled his hips so that his erection pushed into her leg.

Her hand travelled down his stomach, pulling his shirt from his breeches and running her hand across any bare skin she could reach. He gasped and she took advantage of the opportunity, ducking her head to lick his neck and nibble on his ear as her hand pulled at the ties of his breeches. She grazed his earlobe with her teeth and writhed against him--seeking any friction she could. He shuddered and gripped her hips, running his hands down to grip her by the back of her thighs.

He pulled back, just far enough to claim her mouth again, and lifted her suddenly, turning them so that she sat on the desk with him between her legs. He broke away and ran his tongue down her neck, gripping her hips tightly in response to her moan. His hand had found its way under her shirt and breastband, where it stroked her breast and circled her nipple in a way that made her head swim

She unclasped her belt, not a thought in head revolving around anything but having more of him, and pushed her breeches down over her hips. He made a sound low in his throat and lifted her, tugging at her breeches to help her discard them along with her loincloth. Together, they pushed them down her legs and his gaze, dark and wanting, raked over her thighs and what lay between as he licked his lips.

Her own breeches had barely hit the floor when she was working on his again. Making short work of what remained of his laces, she tugged at the garment just enough to allow her the access she craved. He gasped when she grasped him, and shuddered when she stroked while pulling him from his breeches.

He kissed her again, one hand clutching her curls and the other on her waist. She spread her legs and moved forward until she was perched on the very edge of the desk and could feel his head against her. He paused, and pulled back, but she pressed her hips forward and used her hand to guide him. He groaned, leaning his forehead against her own as he entered her. Any restraint he had meant to show was eradicated when he felt how wet and ready she was. She groaned at the feel of him fully sheathed within her. She was always ready when he was around. He stopped when he was fully inside her, but she hooked her legs around his waist and rolled her hips; they had already lost so much time and it felt like there wasn’t any more to waste.

He matched her pace, thrusting into her with abandon. She gasped, struggling to catch her breath, and leaned back on the desk. Numair shoved her shirt and breastband up, exposing her and running his hands over her as they moved together. She met each of his thrusts, craving more even as he fully possessed her. He leaned over her, swirling his tongue around her nipple while tweaking the other with his free hand. Daine clutched his back, digging her nails into his shoulders, and raked her teeth against his neck. He shuddered, groaning, and she felt his movement slow as he pulled back to claim her lips.

She released a frustrated groan, pushing her hips back into his to resume their pace.

“Wait,” he gasped, clutching her hips to hold her still. She could have cried when he pulled out but he nibbled her ear, grazing the sensitive spot on her neck behind it with his teeth. “Turn around.”

The command surprised her, but she complied as shivers of anticipation ran down her spine. He tugged at the hem of her shirt and she raised her arms, allowing him to remove what was left of her clothing. She felt him remove his own shirt, and leaned forward so that her palms rested on the desk.

Hands on her hips, she felt him between her legs--hard and seeking. Tilting her hips and using a hand to help guide him she let out a sigh of relief as he pushed into her once more. They found their rhythm quickly, Daine pushing back against him to urge him to be faster, harder, _more_.

His hands ran down her body, over her breast and stomach, and pulled her upright against him. She gasped when he found his way between her legs and began to stroke her. Her head fell back against his shoulder where she could feel how fast and erratic his breathing had become.

Pressure built surprisingly fast. She wasn’t sure how he was holding them both up when she wasn’t sure if she could even hold herself up if he released her. She turned her head and he covered her lips with his own. His breath was hot as it mingled her hers, and she felt his thrusts become more erratic though his strokes remained steady and determined.

He moaned against her lips, a breathy desperate sound, and it was enough. The pressure that had been coiling released and she shuddered and cried out against his lips. He gripped her tighter, groaning as he reached his own release.

They stood, still intertwined and clinging to one another, as they caught their breath. Numair brought his arms around her in an embrace, and released a gasping breath.

“I thought you wanted to _talk_.”


	6. Eye of the Storm

The rage of their initial coupling subsided and everything had fallen into a hush. Fire dwindled in the hearth, neither of the lovers concerned with finding more fuel. They lay together, intertwined and exhausted as they ran their hands lightly over one another. 

They lay there, somewhere between the anger and hurt of the past years, and the trials yet to come. For now, all they craved was touch in the lingering firelight. 

Exhaustion and contentment, however, did not diminish desire. Like a heap of coal stoked to reveal embers beneath, a touch of the thigh or the brush of lips against a neck was all it took and he was coaxing her with his hand, or inside of her, or she was clutching at his hair with his head between her thighs. 

If their union on his desk was fury, this was adoration. Seeking to investigate every unknown aspect of how their bodies worked together, to explore every unfamiliar sound and reaction; to please and to watch each other come undone over and over like a mantra. 

And now, after his teeth grazed her earlobe and stirred embers, Daine was on top of him moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that stole his breath. He grasped her hips, thumbs sliding over skin that was slick with sweat. She moaned and watched as he shuddered and bit his lip--a sign that he was close. 

She gasped, failing to hide a wicked grin. Already she knew his tell; already she was unraveling his secrets just as he was coming undone. She pressed down, pausing and enjoying the frustrated sound that escaped his throat, before moving her hips in small circles. She wanted to know what he liked, what made him lose control, what pushed him beyond his limits and still made him beg for more. 

He shuddered again, hands gripping her tighter, and she knew he was lost. She ground her hips more firmly against him, feeling the heat and tremors of his body in turn. She hadn’t reached her own release yet, but she thought of everything he had done to her that night with his hands and mouth and tongue--testing her own limits--and knew she wouldn’t be far behind. 

She slowed in time with him, watching the rise and fall of his chest under a slick sheen of sweat as he regained control of his body. His grip loosened and he ran his fingers along her sides with a lightness that made her shiver. 

When she looked at him she was taken aback by the expression she found there--that she had found there each time she looked at him but sent her stomach into flips every time. Lust, yes. Love, certainly, but something else she never expected and wasn’t sure she had the words for. Worship, maybe. 

Numair pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair and back. She felt their hearts beating--fast and uneven and in unison. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear like a prayer, warmth in her chest rising to join with the heat still coiled in her belly. 

He turned them so that she lay back and covered his mouth with her own, muffling the groan of disappointment at the loss of him within her. She didn’t have long to wait, however, as his hand slid over her hips and between her legs to stroke her in a steady pace that he was determined to master. He coaxed her, tongue working against the skin her breasts, and listened for the signs of her undoing as she grasped the carpet beneath them and arched her hips to press more firmly against his touch. 

It didn’t take long and then she was shuddering as he held her body close to his, basking in the sound, taste, and touch of her climax. 

He wiped a damp curl from her face as her body uncoiled and lay next to her so that the length of their bodies pressed together. He continued to stroke her hair, softly so that the tiny movements of each strand sent shivers along the nape of her neck and she reached out to stroke his chest, and arms, and face, and anything she could reach. 

Somewhere far off bells rang out, signaling nothing but the early morning hours to those on watch for the sound did not permeate the haze of Numair’s study. They lay together, more intertwined and more exhausted but just as unwilling to let any space come between them.

The fire crackled as a log fell from its perch and disturbed the coals once more, releasing a flurry of sparks as new flames found life.


	7. Second Wave

Just when they think things have steadied, when they’ve found peace following all of their turmoil, they are thrown back in.

An incoming delegation, a summit between the Royal University and the City of the Gods, bandit raids further south than any recent year in memory, Griffons needing negotiating with—one hazy night in his study where they were left in peace, and then it seemed as if they were being hurled back into a tempest. 

In the end, these were challenges they were well-versed in handling though usually at a more forgiving pace. Now, the frenzy was the moments in between—hands and lips and bodies that they could not keep away from one another in classrooms or forests or closets. 

And for whatever time they could grasp—minutes, an hour if they were lucky—time stopped just long enough to give them a breath and lose themselves in each other as completely as they had ached to do for so long. 

He tries to apologize, sometimes. Apologize that this is not how it was supposed to be. That it’s supposed to be candlelight and romance and long, languorous evenings spent in front of a fire with good food and _privacy_. 

She always hushes him, because time spent speaking is time they are losing and she can’t think of anything else but his hands on her _now_ . Talking could wait for later or, when there was _really_ no time, during. 

Impassioned pleas, sweet nothings and,occasionally, the odd work update or relayed message as she frantically pulls at the laces of his breeches are common form. Everything is a blur of passion and necessity and love and raw need and making up for lonely nights and recklessness. 

He struggles to hold control over his silencing spell and hold her against the wall at the same time but her murmured pleas against his neck urge him on and he is so lost in her he’s not even sure where he _is_ except that it’s with her. 

Her pleas beckon him and his own— _marry me_ —almost falls from his lips but he catches himself, barely. This may be what they have now but later there would be time for more. 

But later was later, and now they cling together and weather the storm. 


End file.
